Memoirs of a School Teacher
by Genne
Summary: John Smith has another strange dream. Only this time it's about a girl, and she keeps walking away. He is confused about how to describe her in his 'Journal of Impossible things' late one night...but does his best to remember.


**Disclaimer: I've got thirty bucks, a pottery wheel, a basil brush doll, a bottle of 'Agent Provocateur' and butt load of Harry Potter stuff. But that's about it.**

**Author's early note: Ok, I had to make up some of the stuff he's written. Why? A) We didn't see enough of the journal to see it all. B) THE DOCTOR'S HANDWRITTING IS SO FLIPPIN' UNREADBLE:: hyperventilates:: you guys have no idea what pains I had to go through pausing and squinting trying to read his handwriting! If John was a teacher and his handwriting on the board was like that, then I pity students. A lot. **

John Smith gasped for air as he woke from another dream. His chest was heaving madly and he could vaguely feel the sweat that was plastering his hair to his head cool. He tried to ease his breathing slowly and unhooked a shaking hand from his bed sheets to wipe his brow. Then, as though hit by something, he scrambled out of bed, untangling his legs from the sheets violently and grabbed his robe from the chair beside his bed. John's fingers fluttered across his nightstand in the dark until he grasped the small metal box. Opening it, he took out the contents and lit the single candle. The small glow grew steadily across his impatient and tense features. Carefully, he held it in his hand and used it to light three others that were on his desk.

He quickly sat down and opened his drawer. His hands fumbled around as he pulled out the black leather-bound journal, a bottle of ink, and a stained quill. Laying them all out on the desk, he opened a fresh page in the '_Journal of Impossible things' _and closed his eyes. Silently, he tried to remember his dream in all clarity. This one was very different from the others he decided. This time it wasn't (entirely) about strange creatures and astonishing devises… this time it was about a girl. John ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He tugged at his roots in attempt to clearly envision her face…. He squeezed his eyes a little tighter before snapping them open suddenly and taking the quill in his hand.

The mouth, she had a rather large mouth, he thought, but there was a kind a charm about it. It was delightfully welcoming and rather… attractive, it made him stomach flutter just thinking about it. So he drew it as best he could. Her nose was nice as well. And her hair! Oh she had lovely hair! It just seemed to fall about her face in the most flattering way! Johns hand raced across the page, up and down, up and down… if only he could feel it through the paper…if only she were _real_. He shook his head and tried to focus on her greatest feature, her eyes. He'd had so many glimpses of her in the dream that he couldn't decide which mood had made her face look more appealing. He grinned to himself and drew. There, the dark eye-brow, arched. The big heavily lidded eye was looking up at him in a rather …devious kind of way. But it was also sad. Even though he hadn't intended it, the picture of the face looked like it was tearing.

He couldn't help feel like it was his fault that she was hurt.

Looking at her face, he uttered her name in husky whisper:" _Rose"_.

John surprised himself at the emotions that rushed through him at the mere mention of her name. It was a lovely name, of course, but nothing special. Yet somehow… it caused his blood to rush, his breath to catch in his throat and his mouth muscles to tighten. He dipped his quill in the ink bottle and began to write what he remembered of the best episode in the series of strange dreams he'd been having.

_"Rose. She's always beside me. The visions usually start with me taking her hand in mine." _He stopped writing momentarily as he recalled the feel of her hand. It seemed so _real_. Like so many of his dreams… but this one not only seemed to control his memories but also his emotions. He gets into a state of absolute euphoria when he takes her hand. John can't ever remember feeling that happy in his life. He shakes his head and continues scribbling. "_We're running a great many times. Sometimes were running from something, other times it's just for our own enjoyment. She appears to be my companion in the blue box… very much like the way Martha was in my last entry, only…different, very different."_

Very different. How? It didn't make sense, not even to himself. Nothing in these dreams made much sense, John though warily, but usually it's because he's seeing impossible things that couldn't possibly exist. Now he was trying to understand why this girl that was fabricating herself into his dreams was so special. She held meaning, but what?

"_I know her." _He writes, not quite sure why. "_I know her and she is my…" _My what? Companion? Friend? Acquaintance?

Love?

He left the area blank not knowing what to write, because it was just plain ridicules to declare his love to a woman who didn't even exist. Did she? No, of course she didn't. She was a character he'd invented in his mind. But… "_I remember her. I see her and I remember her… I know her."_

For the next hour, he continues to write, his hand scribbling furiously away over the paper, smearing words with the side of his hand as he goes. Random comments appear all over the page "_She is dressed in the most modern way." _Well, they seem modern, he muses with a cheeky grin, remembering her… slimming, trousers and a few low-cut tops. "_She's changed, she is glowing. No, she's radiating!" _And she looked beautiful, but she was in pain. He remembered that, even though she reminded him of an old portrait of a Greek goddess, she had been in pain. And he helped her. Well, the Doctor helped her. "_Perfect Rose, perfect Rose" _he writes sideways on the page and he feels confidant as he does so, because he knows that that's how he felt towards her…in the dream, of course.

"_I can't reach her. I know she's there but I can't touch her."_

John stops suddenly. This had been the worst part of the dream. She was crying and trying to tell him something, something important, but he couldn't hear her and he could not comfort her. He did a quick sketch of her crying eye at the side of the page, next to the drawing of her face. He rubbed his free hand over his tired face and pressed on his eyelids. Whatever had been done to the poor girl had been cruel and unjust, he could tell that much. It broke his heart thinking about the shattered look on her face…and he hadn't known how to fix it. In his dreams he, the Doctor, had done many a fantastic thing, yet he was incapable of gathering this sobbing girl in his arms and helping her.

And then it got worse. She would turn and walk away. John sighed and with a gulp of grief, put ink to paper again. "_In my dream, she keeps walking away." _At one point he remembered asking her something about begin with him or something, to which she'd replied: "Forever". John looked thoughtfully at a candle that was nearly well and truly burned to its end. He writes a few more words, "_She will never leave me. I keep calling her … she keeps walking away." _The ending of his dream is still stinging his memory, of her walking away. And when she gives a last glance over her shoulder, he is unable to see her gorgeous hazel eyes anymore. She continues to walk on and just…fades. He wants to chase after her, find her, and help her. But he can't, he's rooted to the spot, trapped.

Slowly, John places the quill down to let the ink on the page dry. His fingers have smears all over them and his face is plagued with fatigue and, if only a small fraction, guilt.

John continues to stare at the face of the beautiful Rose. What had happened to her? Why, if she said that she was never going to leave him, did she continue to walk away? And _why_ did he feel like it was his fault? His facial expression shifts somewhat, making him look utterly heartrending. He sniffed and began returning the quill and ink to the drawer. Touching the picture of Rose's face lightly, he shut the journal and placed it back into his desk. The school teacher then proceeded to remove his robe, snuff out the candles and make his way to bed. It was good thing that it was a weekend, he thought, because after that, going back to sleep was going to take a while.

But he hoped that that wasn't going to be the last time that he would dream about her… for she brought far more intense feelings than the other dreams. And he wanted to see her again, maybe next time, the Doctor could help her.

**Authors later note: yeh, well, that's all I've got for now. My mind is kind of a jumble right now… I've got way too many ideas at the moment, so at times I can't remember what goes to which story idea! Anyways, Human Nature was good episode in my opinion, I just looooooved the look on his face when he talked about Rose! Some people have written some fantastic fics about that scene so I didn't feel the need to write it. I hope I was able to read enough from the actual journal to have made this interesting enough… if you would like to know which were real and which I made up you can ask me. Oh, and speaking of asking, I have a** …

**Question!! I'm working on this story called 'Parallel Observations' and it's going to be about living in the parallel universe from different POV's like, Micky, Jake, Pete and Jackie. Maybe even Rose. Anyways, the actual Question is this… do you guys want it to be multi-chapter? Or should I just make it a one-shot? Up to you guys! Let me know! And don't forget to review, pleeease. **


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